


Songs My Mother Taught Me

by nostalgia



Category: Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Babies, Gen, Half-Human, Mild Peril, Mother-Son Relationship, Time Travel, not that Susan, on his mother's side
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 11:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6283102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgia/pseuds/nostalgia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Susan has a new neighbour, and a baby on the way. These two facts have something in common.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Songs My Mother Taught Me

Sunlight shone through the windows on the morning of the longest day of the year. Susan stood for a moment in the bright rays to appreciate the warmth, then entered the kitchen to make the day's first cup of tea. Outside the garden was in bloom and a starling was pecking at the grass, looking for a meal. She filled the kettle from the cold tap and then opened the back door to let some air in. 

Something large and dark loomed in her peripheral vision and she turned her head to see a police box jammed into next door's garden between the fence and the tool shed. Since this was not, in fact, the strangest thing she had seen in her twenty-six years, she shrugged and headed back into the kitchen. 

 

The postman knocked on the door as the morning turned into afternoon. Susan answered the door, took the parcel and the small pile of letters, and exchanged a few brief sentences about the weather. As the postman turned to leave she became aware that someone else was watching her. She shielded her eyes against the sun and saw a man looking at her over the hedge between her front garden and the next. 

“Are you the new neighbour?” she asked, pleasantly.

The man took a moment to answer. He was tall and grey-haired, thin and wearing slightly worn-looking clothes. “Yes,” he said, finally. “I think I am.”

Susan walked a few steps down the path towards him. “Are you a policeman?”

“Why would you... oh, the police box! That's just... some art. I won it in a bet, haven't the heart to get rid of it.” He smiled at her, looking more star-struck than friendly. 

“I'm Susan,” she said, offering her hand over the hedge. 

“John Smith,” said the man, taking her hand and shaking it enthusiastically. When he finally let go of her hand he said, “I see you're expecting.”

Susan smiled and placed a hand on her swollen abdomen. “Yes, she's due in November.”

“She?” He looked surprised.

“I think it'll be a girl,” she explained. “I won't be disappointed if she isn't, it's just a feeling I have.”

Apparently this was amusing. He shook his head and smiled. “I had no idea.”

“My husband's in the navy,” she added, pre-empting the usual question. “He's at sea right now.”

A strange expression crossed John's face but it was gone before she could place it. “At sea. It must be very difficult for you, spending so much time on your own.”

“I'm not looking to replace him if that's what you're suggesting,” she said sharply.

His eyes widened. “Oh, God, no.” He shook his head. “Sorry, I'm not saying you're not a wonderful person, and I'm sure you're probably very beautiful but... no. Really, no.”

“Sorry,” she said, “it's just that sometimes -”

“No, I understand, but... no.” He looked faintly disgusted.

An uncomfortable silence stretched out between them. Susan mentally kicked herself for over-reacting and making a fool of herself. 

Finally John spoke. “I just meant that, you know, it gets lonely when you don't have anyone around to talk to.”

She nodded, tried to push past the conversational awkwardness. “Sometimes. What about you? Do you live alone?”

“I do at the moment. Sometimes I have friends who stay with me, but... well, not right now.”

For some reason she shivered. She glanced up but the sky was clear and blue. “I'd better get back inside,” she said. “It was nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he said, with apparent sincerity.

 

She didn't see him for a few days after that, but eventually bumped into him in town. Literally, as it happened. 

“Sorry, I didn't see... Oh, it's you. Hello.”

He looked quite pleased to see her. Well, he was new around here, he probably didn't have many friends yet. 

She went on, “I'm just on my way home, I needed some groceries.” She lifted her shopping bags a bit to illustrate her point.

“Do you want me to carry those?” he asked. “Since you're in a pregnant condition and I'm not.”

“Oh, don't fuss! I'm getting the bus back anyway.”

“Me too,” he said, uncertainly, as though he hadn't quite made the decision yet. “Can I carry them to the bus stop, at least?”

“If you insist,” she said, actually quite grateful for the offer. She handed him the bags and they walked to the bus stop talking politely about the weather. 

“How much is the bus fare?” he asked when they reached the stop.

“It's gone up to three and a half pence,” she told him.

“Shocking,” he said, with a small smile. He searched his pockets for change, examined the coins like he didn't know what they were. She must have been staring, because he said, “I haven't been living here for long. I was overseas for a while.”

“Oh, really? Where?”

“Here and there,” he said, vaguely. “Three and a half pence,” he said, finally selecting a few coins. “You know, there's nothing shameful about switching to a sensible decimal system -”

“There's the bus,” she said, holding her hand out to stop it. 

The journey was short and the conversation didn't stray much beyond the price of milk (shocking) and their health (quite good). She took her bags from him at the gate and thanked him for carrying them, which he protested was the least he could have done. She thought about offering him a cup of tea, but people might gossip so she didn't.

 

The summer passed quickly, the long days sliding into one another until the rains returned and the air turned cold.

She saw John occasionally, and they were on quite good terms by now. He was very good at not answering direct questions, so she still didn't know much about him, but she'd come to accept that he was just a very private person. She had her own secrets, of course, so she couldn't really complain about other people keeping their own counsel. 

By the autumn she was starting to worry that her baby would arrive before her husband returned for her. She was quite certain that he _would_ come back, but she knew it could be a very long time. She could be dead in the ground before he made it back to her. She knew that his family would never approve of the marriage, and no doubt they'd try to stop him coming home to her, but... 

She was running out of “but” by the end of October, with the birth approaching rapidly and her husband nowhere in sight. Maybe he'd forgotten, maybe he had lied. Maybe he didn't love her as much as he had claimed.

 

She had never much cared either way about President Kennedy, but when she heard that he'd been assassinated she felt a sudden agonising pain. It took her longer than it should have to realise that it was a contraction. 

Circumstances being what they were she knew that she couldn't go to a hospital – they'd ask too many questions. But she had prepared for this, she had read the books and she knew what she was supposed to do when the baby arrived. With a clear head she looked at her watch to time the contractions and then fetched some clean towels from the airing cupboard.

It took a long time, long enough for her to worry that something had gone wrong. Maybe she wasn't built for this, maybe she was carrying something far too strange. She cursed her husband for abandoning her and leaving her to do this alone.

Finally, eventually, at last, the baby arrived with a scream. Not a girl, but a healthy-looking boy. She cleaned him, fed him, gave him a name, and held him close as though protecting him from the world itself. She found his heartbeat, and then its echo on the other side of his tiny chest. Just like his father, but his bold gaze was her own. 

 

“Boy or a girl?” asked John when she emerged next day.

“A boy,” she said, smiling. “A beautiful little boy.” She picked the child from his pram and held him so that her neighbour could see.

“I thought it might be. Are you going out?” he asked.

“Just down to the shop, I need milk and some bread,” she said, returning the baby to the pram.

“I can go for you,” John offered.

She shook her head. “I could do with the walk. But thanks for offering.”

“If you need anything, you know where I am.”

Susan nodded, thanked him again, and set off down the path.

 

She was settling the boy down for the night when she realised that she could smell something burning. She picked up her son again as smoke started curling under the door. She tried the window, but it had jammed long ago and she had never got around to fixing it, and besides how could she get them both down to the ground safely? 

She opened the door and smoke billowed into the room. She stepped through it but the thick haze made her cough and she found herself quickly disoriented. She held her baby tightly, tried to work out how to get to the front door without falling down the unseen stairs.

She realised, with an oddly calm lucidity, that she was going die. Worse, her son was going to die, and he was mere days old. She started silently bargaining with any watching powers, offering herself up if only her son could be saved. 

A voice broke through her daze. “Susan! This way!” Something tugged at her arm, pulling her along the hallway. “Careful, you're at the stairs.” She recognised John's voice and let him lead her down the staircase and then out through the front door. 

She stumbled onto the front path, blinking away smoke from her eyes. She turned back to see her home in flames. She held her crying son against her chest and looked around for her saviour. 

“It's not over,” said John, placing a blanket over her shoulders. “We need to get away from here.”

Susan stared at him blankly. “What?”

“That fire was no accident,” he said, grimly. “Come on, I'll take you somewhere safe.” He led her to a nearby parked car and pointed something at it until the doors clicked open. 

“That's Mr Parkin's car,” she protested.

“I'll bring it back,” he promised. “We need it more than he does right now.”

Susan heard distant sirens as she climbed onto the back seat of the car. John took the driver's seat, starting the car with some sort of wand that made a high-pitched noise.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Safest place I can think of. No, the second-safest. The safest would be that police box, normally, but that's the first place they'd look.” He glanced at her in the rear-view mirror. “I'm sorry, I'm fairly sure they wouldn't have found you if I hadn't turned up like an idiot.”

“Who's 'they'?” she demanded. “Why are they trying to kill us?”

John took a while to answer. “There's a prophecy. A very bad one, and they generally don't believe in these things but why take the chance, eh? They do sometimes intervene, at least when it's their own future on the line.”

“You still haven't told me who they are.”

“Your in-laws,” he said. “Your husband's people.”

Susan tensed. “What do you know about my husband?”

“I can't say any more. I've already told you too much.” He shook his head. “Stop asking questions.”

She was too tired to protest, and she knew he wouldn't answer anyway.

 

They drove through the darkness for hours, John constantly checking the road in case they had been followed. Finally he stopped the car in front of a semi-detached house in a London suburb.

Susan got out of the car and followed him to the front door. He unlocked the door without bothering to knock. 

“A friend of mine lives here,” he told her, switching on the lights. “Barbara, she's a teacher. She's left town for a bit, doing some travelling. I don't know how long you can stay here, but we can think of a plan in the morning. Meanwhile,” he said, “that boy of yours is probably hungry.”

“He's been traumatised for life, the poor thing.”

“Don't worry, he won't remember any of this, he's just a baby.” He sat down in an armchair. “There's a bedroom upstairs, I imagine. I'll stay down here and keep watch.”

“Thank you,” she said, suddenly aware that he had saved their lives.

“Don't thank me, this is all my fault. I made it that bit easier to find you.”

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I'm your neighbour and I'd like to think I'm your friend.”

“Where did you come from?” she pressed. “Where did you live before?”

“Go and feed your son, and then get some sleep. Please.”

Susan didn't like being told what to do, but she had been through a lot and the questions could wait until morning. She nodded. “All right.”

 

She woke early in a strange bed and remembered what had happened the night before. Leaving her son to sleep on, she headed downstairs determined to get some answers.

She found John asleep in his armchair, head tilted back and his mouth slightly open. Curious, she stepped close and studied his features. He reminded her of someone, now that she came to look at him properly. 

“It's rude to stare,” he said without opening his eyes.

“I know you from somewhere.”

His eyes blinked open. “You really don't.”

“Your eyes. I've seen them before. Where?”

“In my face.” He stood up. “Has anyone ever told you that you ask too many questions?”

“Tell me who you are. Tell me or I swear I'll...”

He scoffed. “You'll what? You wouldn't hurt a fly, it's not in your nature.”

“You don't know my nature,” she countered. “You're one of them, aren't you? The Time Lords.”

He dodged the question. “I didn't sleep the whole night. I started making something for you.” He pulled a silver bracelet from his pocket. “It hides your temporal footprints, if that means anything to you.”

“So you _are_ a Time Lord.”

“I'm just a gifted amateur.” He sat down again, produced the strange wand from his pocket and started tinkering with the bracelet.

“You said something about a prophecy.”

He didn't look up from his work. “Did I?” 

“Yes, you did. What was that about?” 

“It's all just superstitious nonsense. Don't worry about it.”

“Look at me,” she demanded, and he turned his gaze towards her. 

“What?”

“I know where I've seen those eyes,” she said, suddenly certain and almost dizzy from the rushing of her thoughts.

“No, you don't.”

She said his name.

He froze.

“I thought so,” she said. She reached out and touched his cheek. “Look at you, all grown up. My boy.”

He stayed silent, unmoving.

“Don't be afraid,” she said. “Nobody's going to hurt you.”

He blinked and cleared his throat. “I don't usually go by... Mostly people just call me the Doctor.”

She smiled. “And what do you do, Doctor?”

“I fix things. At least, I try to. It doesn't always work.”

“Are you married? Do I have grandchildren?”

“You know that I can't tell you any of that.” He went back to working on the bracelet. “You can't know anything about the future, about me.”

“But I do,” she said. “I know that you're brave, and clever, and that you love me.”

The sound of crying came from upstairs. “I've woken up,” he said. 

Susan looked at him for a few moments, trying to memorise his face before she left the room. Then, quite calmly, she went upstairs to see to her son.

 

The Doctor opened the door and looked into the room. “I've finished,” he said. “It's ready.”

Susan beckoned for him to come in. He sat down next to her on the bed and slipped the silver bracelet onto her wrist. 

“Nobody who shouldn't find you will be able to track you down when you're wearing that.” He paused. “Including me.”

Susan stared at him, shocked. “You can't just -”

“I shouldn't have come back here like this. It was a mistake. Don't take that thing off, ever.”

She shook her head. “I'm supposed to be the one who tells _you_ what to do.”

“I'm older than you,” he said, “and I refuse to let you remain in danger for my sake.”

“Will I ever see you again?” she asked.

“Of course you will.” He nodded towards the baby. “Every day.”

“I mean _you_.”

“I don't know. I don't think so. I'm really bad at goodbyes though, so I'm going to go, and you're going to stay here for a day or two and then find somewhere nice to live. With a garden. A nice big garden with an apple tree in it.” He stood to leave the room.

“Wait.” Susan got up and stood in front of him.

“Please don't be about to clean my face with spit on a tissue, I never did like that.”

“Don't be silly,” she said, and she kissed his forehead. 

 

So she found a house with a garden, planted an apple tree and she never, ever, took the bracelet from her wrist. Sometimes she thought she saw her son in a crowd, with one face or another, but she was never certain. 

And she lived, often happily and always bravely, until she died.


End file.
